


When you left you forgot your favorite porn magazine so maybe you want it back?

by lethargies



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Cursing like tons of it, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 04:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16569752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lethargies/pseuds/lethargies
Summary: “Oh,fuck you.” He wants to laugh at Oikawa’s scathing tone, just for the sake of it. “You’re an asshole, Iwa.”





	When you left you forgot your favorite porn magazine so maybe you want it back?

**Author's Note:**

> There's one (1) homophobic encounter in the fic. (It's after the paragraph that starts with "The room pulsates with...") Please be careful while reading! They're aged-up here and in uni as well.

 

i. 

He has his bags packed with him before summer comes. He tears down the sexy posters on his wall and shoves it inside one of his boxes, along with the porn magazines and his photo albums of the past three years. The sweat drips from his forehead and he wonders how much hotter it would get if he burns everything instead.

 

“You’re fucking stupid, you know that?” Matsukawa drawls lazily as he places the last of Iwaizumi’s boxes into the trunk of the car. “He’s gonna cry for a month straight, you asshole.”

 

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says, tying his Seijoh jacket around his waist once. “Sorry about that.”

 

This is how Hajime decides to live the next four years of his life: away from Oikawa’s blistering heat, leaving only dust and dirt behind. He takes a head-start because he’s a little shit like that.

 

It’s not like it would stop Tooru from catching up with him.

  
  
  
  
  
ii.

For all of his grumbling and nonsensical grunts, he finds himself in a shit-ton of leadership orgs. He flits from one org meeting to the next, posting up photo blasts on a weekly basis, 9 pm on the fucking dot.

 

Sometimes Iwaizumi feels his fingers twitch, chasing after phantom traces of a ball painted blue and yellow. Whenever it does, he opens up his laptop and works on another event proposal. Another financial sheet. Another photo layout. Whatever his head assigns him to do that weekend.

 

Today it rains in torrents, the wind unforgiving, and it whistles in between the cracks of his window like a terrible doorbell. He misses his afternoon jog and settles for a yoga session. He places a threadbare blanket on the floor and pretends it’s good enough a mat. In one pose he topples over and hits his tailbone on the floor. It hurts so bad he swears he heard it fucking crack.

 

For dinner Hajime cooks up some ramen noodles with a hastily stirred in egg. He almost sets a table for two, and he’s livid at himself when he realizes he’s holding two matching bowls instead of his single favorite one. He picks up his phone if only to pretend he’s not sitting alone.

  
  


 

 **HAJIME (10:30)** : _Im lonely and horny_

 **MATSUN (10:31):** _am i supposed to care_

 **HAJIME (10:31):** _sext me mattsun_

 **MATSUN (10:32):** _fuck off dickhead_

 **MATSUN (10:32):** _ur probably just hungry go eat something_

 **HAJIME (10:35):** _im eating rn spicy noodles with egg_

 **MATSUN (10:37):** _thats cool ig_

                                                                                           (seen 10:38)

 **MATSUN (10:41):** _no… youre pathetic hajime_  

 **HAJIME (10:45):** _i dont know why he liked this so much. This is digsuting_

 **MATSUN (10:50):** _dont text me again_

                                                                                           (seen 10:51)

  
  
  


 

He finishes the rest of his noodles in silence, sipping the broth as thunder echoes in the distance. It’s a sad evening, and he still has three pubmats to finish by the end of the night.

 

Iwaizumi shrugs and places his bowl in the dirty sink, washes his hands. Goes back to his room and turns off all the lights, kicks his laptop into some corner of his bed. He climbs on his bed and trails a hand inside his shorts.

 

It’s going to be a fucking wicked night, he thinks, with his hand wrapped around his cock, the rain pattering on his windows, sexier than any of his soundcloud beats.

 

_(He doesn’t finish at all.)_

  
  
  
  
  
  


iii.

There is a pair of lips ghosting on the skin of his neck, wet and almost unbearably hot. He arches into the warmth, hands trailing along the taut muscles of the stranger’s back. The man above him bites down suddenly, into the juncture between his shoulder and neck, and Iwaizumi _keens_.

 

The door opens.

 

The room pulsates with the heavy beats coming from outside, and he hears a couple giggling as they peek inside the room. Iwaizumi barely bites back a groan as the man ruts into him torturously slow.

 

“The room’s occupied, babe,” he overhears, “some faggots fucking around.”

 

The girl makes a gagging sound. The guy laughs.

 

Before the couple leaves them alone Hajime makes sure to let out a long, exaggerated moan, probably good enough to be heard on a porn tape titled _Twink Gets Gang-Banged by Five Men at The Same Time_ or something like that. He feels the stranger smile into his skin, giggling, and by this time Iwaizumi cracks an eye open.

 

It’s dark. There is a sliver of light coming from the windows, a narrow line that runs along the floor of the room. Somehow he can make out the tall shelf just across the bed, textbooks and novels piled up against each other. Iwaizumi wonders if there’s a book on how to feel again, how to chase down the numbing, white-hot pleasure of fucking around as a stranger sucks his dick.

 

During sex he thinks a lot like this: sometimes he thinks about elephants and the ever-worsening state of the environment but tonight all he can think about is how.

 

How to piss off homophobic assholes in a span of five seconds. How fast can he make his partner come. How does he feel numb to all this. How can he rip off a bandaid without any pain.

 

How. How does he remember the way Tooru writhed under him. How can he leave without going back at all. How can he stay. _How---_

 

“You’re thinking too loud, baby,” his partner whispers softly. Iwaizumi closes his eyes, and when the stranger sucks on the skin behind his ear, he arches, once again, into his warmth.

  
  
  
  
  
iv.

Somewhere along the way he learns how to bring people into his own bed. He wakes up early enough to see them tiptoeing out his room, but for their sake and his he pretends to be asleep.

 

In the middle of spring someone knocks at his door, probably furious, if the harshness was anything to go by. Iwaizumi shuffles grumpily, scratching at his stomach as he opens the door to lecture them about the basic courtesy of _not visiting anyone at six in the morning_.

 

“Didn’t you want a cat, Iwa-chan?”

 

He blinks.

 

Oikawa’s hair looks terrible. It’s shaved awkwardly on both sides and there’s a fucking mullet behind his head. He wonders if Oikawa did go mad the past few months, to get a haircut like that. He has piercings now, three on one lobe and two on the other. Iwaizumi thinks he saw a glint of silver in Oikawa’s mouth.

 

“A cat, Iwa-chan,” Tooru repeats. “A cat. Didn’t you want one?”

 

Ah, yes. He _did_ get a tongue piercing, a tiny ball resting on the flat of his tongue.

 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

 

“You wanted a cat before,” Oikawa tells him. His eyes are red and rubbed raw, lips chapped from the cold. “You told me we would get a cat together.”

 

“I don’t remember.” Iwaizumi says, because he doesn’t. Not really. He remembers losing to Karasuno and maybe that five thousand yen note Kindaichi taped to one of the lockers, but not this promise.

 

“Oh, _fuck you_.” He wants to laugh at Oikawa’s scathing tone, just for the sake of it. “You’re an asshole, Iwa.”

 

“What, you want me to lie and tell you, yeah, of course I want that _goddamn cat!_ ” Iwaizumi retorts. “I don’t, Tooru. I don’t want a fucking cat.”

 

“I don’t either!” Oikawa yells at him.  

 

“Then leave me alone!” It feels good to scream back at him, but it’s too damn early for this. “What else do you want, huh?”

 

Silence never sits easy between the two of them. Iwaizumi hates it. He wishes he had a cat to _meow_ the silence away.

 

“A reason, Hajime. Why are you here? Why did you fucking leave me alone? Don’t you know I love you? I waited for you, goddamnit! Why don’t you want the cat anymore? Why can’t you stay, why can’t _you--”_

 

Oikawa reaches out for him, and Iwaizumi flinches away. Steps back and creates a distance between them untouchable.

 

“I loved you, Hajime, I fucking loved you! So why. Why are you afraid of me. Why are you so afraid of me. WHY ARE YOU SO, _so fucking scared of me?_ ”

 

For a few moments he doesn’t hear anything but the rush of wind blowing across his face, or maybe that’s the blood running along his veins like wildfire and poison and everything else in between. There is white-hot fury behind his eyes, piercing, and his fist is aching to hit someone’s jaw. And then a door behind him opens, squeaking, soft footsteps in its wake.

 

“Haji? What’s going on?” Someone from the insides of his apartment mumbles tiredly, voice obviously hoarse.

 

“It’s nothing, baby,” he says reassuringly. “Go back to the room, I’ll join you in a few.” He even looks back to nod kindly at the man, urging him back to the warmth of his sheets.

 

When Iwaizumi meets Oikawa’s gaze head on he sees a reflection of himself, albeit blurred with the water pooling up in those eyes. He wonders why his chest no longer hurts the same way it did two years ago. Briefly he’s triumphant, but more than anything else he just wants to go back to bed and have a quickie and pass out for the next thirteen hours.

 

Tooru gasps, only softly. Hajime hears a heart breaking.

 

“‘M not scared,” he tells Oikawa. “Disappointed, maybe. Mostly nothing. You messed up three times, Shittykawa. Three people when I was there.”

 

“ _But--”_

 

“But what? I’m fucking tired. I have midterms in a week. Do I look like I care anymore?” Iwaizumi yawns. He really does feel sleepy.

 

“You always did, Hajime.”

 

“Not really.”

 

He closes the door in Oikawa’s face, and goes back under the sheets with his partner of the day. Iwaizumi wakes up thirteen hours later, with four new hickies on his collarbones and neck. It is raining outside, relentless, and he makes himself a cup of tea and sits in front of the tv.

 

Fuck you! He screams at his door, to feel a little bit better. _Fuck you so much, asshole!_

  
  
  
  
  
v.

In a different lifetime, in a different world, maybe they did end up together. Maybe they were roommates at the school dorm, having the time of their lives, cuddling every other night. Maybe they could’ve worked it out, with a different set of conditions and terms and other circumstances. But in this one he chose to leave it behind. To leave them behind.

 

He hears from him half a year later. It’s two am and Iwaizumi is cramming another essay, typing half-asleep in his living room. He actually does fall asleep, and only jerks awake when his phone rings.

 

“Hello? Who’s this?”

 

“Is this Iwa-chan?” The other line says.

 

“What the fuck do you need, Oikawa?” Iwaizumi scowls into his phone. “I’m busy.”

 

“Well, you see, I have your porn magazine.”

 

“What?”

 

“When you left you forgot your porn magazine at my house,” Oikawa starts, and Iwaizumi can see him twirling the said magazine around a perfectly manicured finger. But perhaps he can longer see him clearly, that maybe Oikawa’s actually in the barbershop getting another horrible undercut, tucking away the magazine into his bag.

 

“So I thought, how about I’d be a good person for once,” Tooru continues and at this Hajime scoffs. “And bring it back because you might want to use it.”

 

“I don’t want it,” he tells him, and he types faster on his laptop. _Fuck you oikawa fuck you oikawa fuck you_ , reads his monitor. “Throw it away, I don’t care.”

 

“I’ll be bringing it over!” Oikawa replies. Singsongs, even. “Noodles, please.”

 

“Just stop it, Tooru.” Iwaizumi says, finally. He hangs up on Oikawa, and stares at his screen. It’s all gibberish and useless and absolute nonsense, so he presses _ctrl-a_ and deletes everything.

 

He stands up, heads to the kitchen, and takes out the packaged ramen, with the spicy packets and everything. Today there’ll be no hastily stirred in egg. Only two matching bowls, when there should only be his favorite one.

 

_Just stop it, Tooru. Just stop it._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> im so sorry... i actually don't know what happened here but like.... u know... fighting... i actually planned to write this in like jus 800 words but... oh whale
> 
> i honestly don't know what i did with this... but this is inspired by gamblers works here on ao3... i admire them so much....


End file.
